


I hate blondes

by orphan_account



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Catharsis, Depressing, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 21:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Something written about a smidge of my fucked up past, for cathartic purposes.





	I hate blondes

You were blonde and pretty, and from the way you talked to me or touched me, I started to think that I was in love with you. You had a way with talking to me, convincing me to do things that I didn't understand, yet did, though I felt wrong doing them.

"I'll play the mom, you play the dad", you'd say, and I'd go along and play. You'd put the baby doll in the crib I don't know where you got from, and then we'd play the part of being in love. Like kissing. You'd kiss me, and I could smell your breath, always like smoke- smokey like your house, like your wood stove. Everything in your house smelled like smoke.

Your parents were gone, and you took me to your favorite hiding spot; behind the couch against the wall, though it was crowded with the both of us inside. You had your pillow with you, and you humped it and moaned, and I watched with the fear of getting caught, and the confusion of what even was happening.

I didn't know anything that you were showing me. Not the kissing, or the groping of bodies, or talk of- sex. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't want to know. I just went along, because it made me confused inside. You were threatening and scary at times, and I was afraid that you would tell what we had done, because all I knew was that it  _shouldn't_  have been done.

I would stay the night at your house and you would play VHS tapes on your TV. Of scary movies or thrillers, but you would always fast forward to the sex of the film, and you would masterbate. You'd ask me if I felt anything too, but I didn't. Just confusion and fear, and the arousal that the acts naturally cast. It was enough to make me realize to bring a movie from my own house, with a sex scene I knew more detailed than yours, and you were excited, and it made me feel normal yet happy, like bringing over a plate of cookies as a snack. That time, you rewinded and replayed, and rewinded and replayed, until you got tired and we went to sleep.

You would get out your barbies and make us play sex games with them, that I didn't want to do in case anyone walked in, but you were fearless, and Ken and Barbie were always having sex. At your house or mine, or if you brought them to school.

Your closet was always full of clothes or shoes, or other random things. One time you brought me inside, but it was too crowded and it hurt to lay down, so you said "next time", and we played outside. You tuckered yourself out and we came back to your room, and you made me watch you try on different sexy clothes, like a red spaghetti strap and red pantyhose, with short jean shorts. You fell asleep in that outfit, and I made sure that you were asleep before kissing you, lightly with trembling lips, because you had looked pretty, with your blonde hair wavy over your shoulders, and freckled face. Then, I slipped my hand into your shorts and felt you over your pantyhose.

One night, you told me that you had emptied out your closet. It was in the middle of the night, everyone was asleep. You took this time to bring me inside, and you made me lay on my back. You sat over me and started humping me, moaning and breathing, and breathing your smokey breath into my face. My heart was going to burst. I was too afraid of being caught to feel relief. I did know, when you swapped us to make me ride you, that I hated it, and wanted you to be on top of me again. You agreed, too, because you told me that I sucked and was heavy. I didn't mind. I wanted you to be on top.

You continued to bring me into your closet for days, what felt like weeks, even moving to your bed and bedroom floor. It came to the point that I didn't want to come over anymore, because I was uncomfortable. Everything was weird and foreign. You brought me to your parents' room and showed me their master bathroom, with a giant bath, and a box of sex toys that you had discovered. I'd never seen anything like them. I'd never experienced anything like what you put me through. For ages.

Your parents divorced and you moved with your mom. Your dad died in a fire that took your whole house, and it was gone, too. I didn't mind. I don't mind. I'm alright with it being gone. I look at you on social media and see you living with your mom, in bathing suits and with friends, and cheerleading and  _happy_. And I'm here. In the dark, living my own life. You left and became popular. I stayed and started drugs. I stayed and kept trying to kill myself. I stayed and ruined other people's lives, just like you had ruined mine. You gave me a hatred for blondes. You gave me a hatred for women. You made me hate you, and you gave me these  _memories_. I can't get away. I can't get away.

You got away. You got away and you didn't deserve to.


End file.
